


A whole new world

by Tashilover



Series: Claw and dagger [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU of an AU, Dragon AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some loves can even transcend time.</p><p> </p><p>An AU of the Claw and Dagger series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Though I looked up how much it costs to get your CPL, here in the US, it's EXPENSIVE AS HELL. But I couldn't find out how much it costs in England. So if anybody knows, I would welcome the information.
> 
> Also, this is an AU of my AU. Silly me.

He really should stop feeling sorry for himself.

He knew he would in a few hours. He was going to walk back down that path, back to civilization, and try once more to get his CPL. He'll hand over another nine hundred pounds, and pray, over and over, that'll he'll pass this time.

Maybe he'll get it, maybe he won't. Today he didn't. For the fifth time.

Martin groaned out loud into the emptiness of the woods. What was wrong with him? Why was it so hard for him to fly a plane? He knew all the procedures, he knew what every single button did- why was he so bad at this?

Even worse, Martin had already borrowed money from Caitlin. Money she wasn't going to see back, not for years at least. If she was patient, give it some time, he would pay her back. Meanwhile, she was going to passively-aggressively harass him about it. Martin didn't want their relationship to sever over  _money_. And if it does sever, it'll be his fault.

At least here, in the woods, Martin felt at peace. No money worries, no tests, no disapproving scowls of family and friends. A part of him felt like a child, running away from the world's problems by tucking himself into a corner, slapping his hands over his ears and tuning out the noise.

He wished he didn't think of that. It just made him feel more guilty.

Ever since he was a kid, these woods were his. Okay, sure, the woods belonged to the rich folk who lived in London and were planning to give these lands to their grandkids in another twenty years. In the meantime, Martin considered them his. There were no fences to keep him out, no barb wire to keep things in. The only time the owners made a fuss was when a group of drunk morons set fire to a spot a couple years ago.

Other than that, the woods were quiet and peaceful, leaving Martin to do as he willed. Not even Caitlin or Simon liked coming into these woods. Said they were full of ticks.

Martin never encountered ticks or fleas before. Occasionally a deer would pass him, or he would see unusual animal tracks. He hasn't even passed another human being in these woods. Maybe he'll see a hiker or two, but he was mostly always alone.

Martin sighed and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. It sank to his weight, and Martin wondered if he should move, fearing of wood rot and termites. He didn't move, too tired to care.

He didn't want to think. He didn't want to leave. He just wanted this moment of peace, let him have it, because in less than in hour from now, he was going have to face his problems and feel like a loser once again.

The wood shifted again underneath him. Martin grunted, casually looked down at his makeshift chair, and raised his eyebrow in question at it.

The wood kept just long enough for Martin to see the ground crumbling underneath his feet. He gasped, and the wood suddenly gave way, breaking apart beneath his arse. The ground collapsed, and Martin fell into a deep, black hole.

He didn't go far. He screamed, and a second later his back hit ground. His feet went over his head, he rolled, over and over, down a hill. As he rolled, he watched in distortion as the light of the forest went further and further away from him.

He didn't know how long he rolled. It was making him sick. Finally he slowed, then stopped.

Everything hurt. His elbows, his knees, his back in particular. Martin groaned, curling up into a ball as he willed the pain to go away. It didn't feel like he broke bones. He probably bruised the hell out of himself.

He uncurled himself, wincing as he did so. He looked up, to the open hole high above him. A hill connected from floor to hole, and Martin could see the tracks of his decent imprinted into the dirt. The hill looked climbable. Judging the distance, he estimated he must've rolled at least sixty feet. Good lord, what did he fall through? A sink hole?

The hole was his only light source. Besides that, he saw nothing.

Martin fished through his pockets for his mobile. Luckily it stayed where it sat, in his jacket, and had not fallen out. He activated the light of his phone and shone it around him.

All around him, the place glittered so brightly, Martin flinched away from the sudden flash. He lowered his mobile, angling to keep the light minimal, and tried again to get a better look. When his eyes adjusted, when he realized what he was looking at, he dropped his mobile in surprise.

He scrambled to grab his phone to recheck. Martin licked his lips. He couldn't believe it.

Gold. He was surrounded by gold.

 _Mountains_  of it. Literal mountains of gold. There were piles bigger than cars, bigger than houses, surrounding him, as far as the eye could see. Not bars of gold, but coins, all sparkling and glittering back at him. And it wasn't just gold. Martin saw precious jewels, rubies and diamonds, emeralds and pearls. He saw crowns, bracelets, rings, necklaces, and swords with decorated hilts.

This had to be an illusion. This had to be fake. He must have stumbled upon an abandoned movie set or something of the like.

Slowly, Martin stepped forward. The random gold pieces surrounding his feet clinked against his boots. He reached out to one pile, grabbed a coin and held it close for better inspection.

Besides going on from what he'd seen from coins displayed in museums, Martin had no idea what he was looking for. The coin  _looked_  real.

His heart was beating faster by the second as the realization dawned on him. He could use this gold to pay for his future.

Wait, wait, he couldn't. He was still on private property. This wasn't like finding oil in the middle of nowhere. This land was already spoken for, none of this gold could be claimed by him.

Martin stared at the mountains of gold. Who would know if any of it went missing? How would they know? The owners never came back unless there was an emergency. And according to the rumours, the grandkids didn't even want the land. They planned to sell as soon as they got it.

He... he didn't have to take more than necessary. Besides, if it wasn't for him, none of this would ever be found. They should be thanking him.

Martin shook out his thoughts. He was getting too ahead of himself. He should first find out if the gold was real.

Martin reached out and took a single handful of coins. The gold was heavy and thick in his hands. A couple of coins fell out in between his fingers. They clattered noisily to the floor, echoing loudly in this giant cave. He didn't bend down to pick them back up.

 

 

 

 

 

The gold was real.

Martin felt giddy as he walked out of the curator's office. Real, every single coin he had in his hand was real. The curator, a small man with a bald head who practically peed himself as he estimated the age of the coins, told Martin he held about two thousand pounds worth in his hand.

Two thousand pounds. Not only could Martin go back and retry for his CPL, he could pay back his family and still have plenty leftover. He was  _rich_.

No, not him. This gold was still on private property.

Martin was not a greedy man. He didn't need much- he thought he proved that over the past few years. He just needed enough to pay his way, and once he was done, he'd back off. Hell, a plastic bag full of coins could set him for life. A plastic bag compared to the mountains of gold was nothing. The family would miss nothing.

He could take the gold to different places, different people, and nobody would trace it back to him. Back in the shop, Martin had told the curator he found the gold in an old chest left to him by his great-grandfather. He could sell the gold on ebay, Amazon, different pawn shops, different museums, collectors and about a million different other websites. He could do this for years and no one would ever suspect a thing.

 

 

 

 

 

The very first thing he did was pay back his family. His mother was happy and didn't question where the money came from. His brother and sister weren't so grateful. They looked upon the money with suspicion. "Where did you get this?"

"From  _work_ ," Martin emphasized, trying to make it sound like he was offended that they were suggesting he was doing something unlawful. "I got in a few extra jobs with the van."

Caitlin hummed unconvinced. She took the cheque, staring at it warily. When she decided to put the cheque into her purse, Martin internally breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully that'll be the last of her questions.

Martin went back to his  _Cave of Wonders_  every three weeks, collecting only what he needed. He never touched any of the rubies or diamonds. Such fanfare would spring up too many red flags. How was he going to explain selling a diamond the size of his  _fist_  to an online buyer?

He had to be careful to not fall into greediness. Already he found himself window shopping, and considering buying things he did not need. Like a jet ski. As a result, he hung back for a month, refusing to go near the hoards of gold, giving himself a reminder of what his goals really were.

When his next test came up, Martin went back to the Cave of Wonders. He just needed one or two gold pieces to pay for the test.

He went back to the woods, this time a lot more aware of his surroundings. He had to be sure he wasn't being followed by somebody who became suspicious of his sudden financial gain. A part of him looked forward to the day where he wouldn't need this money anymore. He hated feeling this paranoid.

He moved aside the branches he placed over the entrance. With a torch in one hand, Martin carefully descended into his Cave of Wonders, the flash of his light bouncing off the gold with each step. Once he was at the bottom, Martin stood there, still in awe by the enormity of it all.

Beyond the few feet from the hill, Martin had not bothered to really explore this place. he didn't need to. All he needed to do was take two steps to his right, reach out and grab a handful of gold. He could it with his eyes close.

How far did this place go? How much gold was here, really?

Martin briefly looked back towards the hole, his only way in and out of this place.

He didn't have to go far... perhaps only a hundred feet. A straight line. That way, it was impossible to get lost. And the next time he came, he could bring extra torches, flares, and other such devices. He could afford them now.

He loved that phrase: he could afford it now.

Martin chose to go to his left. It looked like a straight shot. The other ways would force him to walk around the mountains and piles of gold. That was a good way of getting lost.

Counting his steps, Martin walked forward. "One, two, three, four..."

It looked like the Cave of Wonders went on forever. How could a place like this still stand? Shouldn't the weight of the forest crash down upon it? The ceiling was too high for the torch light to see. Maybe there were support beams, arcs, and other medieval wonders keeping this place together.

"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven..."

Gold was everywhere he looked. Forget the word billionaire, this could make the owners of the land into  _trillionaires_. Were there trillionaires in the world?

There was an also a strange smell in the air. Ash. Martin wrinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze.

"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred."

He stopped walking. Matin looked behind him and was unable to see the hole he crawled out of. He didn't like this. Though he walked a staright line, though he knew he could easily turn around and walk back, he felt lost.

He turned back, still staring down the never ending path into darkness.

"HELLO!"

He said it louder than he intended. His voice echoed multiple times, making it sound like there were five more Martins screaming hello from different places. When the sound of his voice died down, something  _called back_.

" _WHO'S THERE?_ "

The voice vibrated off of everything, bouncing off the walls so loudly Martin dropped his torch and slapped his hands over his ears. He dropped to his knees, trying to block out the echoing voice as gold tumbled down their mountains, clinking like dozens of bells going off at once.

Once everything went quiet, Martin shakily took his hands off his ears. He was gasping, his knees knocking together as he tried to stand. He picked up his torch, the light flickering on and off. The drop must've broke it.

He didn't know what that was. A trick? Did the owners know he was down here and decided to play some sick game? Either way, it worked. Martin was never coming back, gold be damned.

His torch went off.

When it did, Martin gave a little cry of despair. He pressed the button over and over again, slapping the side, willing the damn thing back on.

It's fine. It's fine. He... he walked in a straight line. Exactly a hundred steps. Just turn around and keep going until he saw the hole.

He screamed as suddenly the sky above him exploded in flames. A wall of fire bloomed across the ceiling, filling the cave with red and orange light. The sudden heat was unbearable, singing Martin's skin though it was nowhere near him. And just as fast as it came, the fire dissipated, leaving Martin in the dark once again.

This time he wasn't going to wait around to get his breath back. Martin took off in a dead sprint. He felt dizzy, unable to see where he was going, feeling like he was in a dream, like he wasn't moving at all. His feet kept kicking upon tiny piles of coins, scattering them, making him stumble and trip. He was making noise, too much noise, but he didn't dare slow down. He kept moving forward, hoping he was going in the right direction.

All around him he heard the mountains of gold vibrating again. It was getting louder and louder. It no longer sounded like bells, but twisted bits of metal surging against each other, crashing and smashing everywhere.

Then true to Martin's luck, he tripped.

His foot had landed on something, twisting his ankle, and Martin crashed to the floor. He cried out as the pain of his ankle fell upon him.

Something was  _moving_  in here. Something big. Martin could hear the pounding of its feet against the floor, like great rocks falling from the sky. And it was moving towards him.

Martin pushed himself to his feet, yelling when his ankle refused to cooperate. He hobbled the best he could- he didn't know if he even faced the right direction anymore. He just wanted to get away from that sound. He moved forward, wincing with every step. The noise got closer and closer.

Oh god, he was going to die, he was going to die.

A gold pile suddenly appeared before him and he smashed right into it. The gold tumbled down, scattering around his feet, trapping his ankles, making him trip.

"Augh, ahhh!"

Then for no reason, the noise stopped.

Martin was shaking. He strained his ears, wondering what happened, where the noise went, and all he could hear was his own breathing. He moved his head, hoping his eyes finally adjusted to the dark but no, he saw nothing. The gold clinkered quietly as Martin moved away from the pile.

Was it just a joke? Was it a hallucination?

He didn't get a chance to scream when something clamped around his torso, yanked him off his feet and carried him away into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems AO3 has changed its formatting, making it impossible for me to submit copy-pasted works as rich text. If anybody knows how to get around it on an ipad, I would greatly appreciate it.

Martin woke on a bed of furs. He only slept on such a thing once, when he was a boy. His grandfather had been fond of hunting, giving the family pelts of animals he had skinned. Martin had not felt such furs since, and he was surprised he was able to recognize the feel of it immediately.

He spread out his arms, the soft fur brushing against his skin. The smell, however, was not as favorable as the touch. The furs were old, dusty, and Martin wrinkled his nose at it. Fighting off the urge to sneeze, he tiredly sat up to see what was going on.

Looking down at this strange bed, it wasn't mink or rabbit he laid on, it was a bear. A whole bear skinned and used to be someone's bed.

Martin didn't know where he was. There were lanterns burning, hanging off the ceiling like something out of a medieval dungeon museum. It looked like Martin was still in the Cave of Wonders, but in a different section of it, a smaller section, almost like a personal room. From where he sat, he could peer down a long hallway towards the main cave, where he could still see the mountains of gold. A few scattered coins littered the hallway floor and the room itself. There was carpet, old and faded and tattered on the floor.

Martin was alone, thankfully. Still clothed too. His shoes were gone, which irked him. They were new. After a quick inspection, his body suffered no damage. No serious damage, at least. There were cuts on his hands, on his arms, bruises on his elbows and knees. When he pushed himself to the edge of the fur bed, swung his legs over and tried to stand, he was sorely reminded his ankle was still twisted.

"GAH!"

Martin dropped back down on the furs, grabbing at his leg in response. The pain quickly dulled, though he could feel his ankle throbbing with every heartbeat, refusing to let him forget about it again.

Was he kidnapped? What a stupid question- of course he was kidnapped. Martin patted his pockets, searching for his phone. He nearly cried when he found it. The screen was cracked, but it was stable enough to turn on. No bars, though. Martin raised the phone above his head, moving it around, hoping something will pop up. Nope.

He tucked the phone away. Ankle be damned, he had to get out of here.

"What was that thing you were holding earlier?"

Martin screamed and scrambled back onto the bed. His ankle gave protest at the sudden movement, shooting hot streaks of pain up his leg. He grasped at his knee, hands shaking, his mind separating itself between what was in front of him, and the pain.

A dragon was standing in front of him, blocking the exit off. A large, bus-sized, winged, scaly, deep green dragon. There was no mistaking what that thing was, it fit every description a dragon could fit. D&D players all around the world would be shitting themselves right now if they saw what Martin was seeing.

"Stop moving," it said. "You're going to hurt yourself even further."

Jesus Christ, what kind of voice was that? The thing had a better speaking voice than Martin did. "W-wh-wh-wh-what's going on?"

The dragon came closer, walking on all fours and Martin flinched back, nearly braining himself on the wall behind him. "Stay away!"

The dragon obeyed, though it was still significantly closer than it was before. It held up its two front legs, bringing its... arms in a pacifying manner. It had a clawed thumb and three claw-like fingers. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Let me go and I'll believe you."

The dragon frowned- how could it frown, it didn't have any fucking lips- and said, "If that's what you want... I won't stop you."

He stepped aside.

This had to be a trick. As soon as Martin walked past him, the dragon was going to swoop down and eat him.

Martin moved. He scooted himself back to the edge of the furs, and gingerly placed his feet down, his good foot first. The floor was cold, even through his socks, and he hissed. "Where are my shoes?"

"I assume you meant these things," the dragon said, reaching over to a corner where Martin's trainers sat. Very gently, the dragon picked them up by hooking them with two of his claws. Martin reared back as the dragon placed the trainers down in front of him.

"Strange leather quality, they are," said the dragon, watching Martin bend down and place his first shoe on. "Never felt such things. Was the cow rotting when they skinned it?"

Martin ignored him. He was too busy trying to put on the other shoe without jostling his ankle too much. Didn't the experts always say don't take off your shoes if your foot was broken, because once it's off, the swelling will make it impossible to put it back on? Okay, so it wasn't Martin's foot that was hurt. But his ankle wasn't making it easier.

Even with the shoe laces loosely tied, his entire foot and calf muscle burned. Martin kept breathing harshly in and out through his nose, desperately trying to keep his shakes under control.

"If you permit me," said the dragon, taking a step forward, his large clawed paw extending out. "I will carry you outside."

Did the dragon get bigger? Martin could've sworn he was smaller only a second ago. It had to be trick of the light. "No," said Martin. "I will... I will go under my own power."

He stepped down again, pushing himself up off the furs. God, it hurt. Both of his legs shook with effort to keep him standing. Martin stared at that open corridor. He was going to go through it no matter what.

The dragon was watching him, his thick tail swishing back and forth behind him.

Determined, Martin took a step forward. His knee immediately collapsed on itself, and he would've crashed to the ground if it wasn't for the dragon throwing out a claw, catching him.

The dragon's scales were soft under Martin's hands. The claws were deadly looking, immensely sharp, but the actual flesh was warm. Martin was too embarrassed to step back and try again.

Taking that as permission, the dragon shifted Martin so he was sitting in its hands, instead of hanging off of it like deadweight.

This was way too surreal to be true. Martin had to be dreaming. Maybe he fell and hit his head.

Standing on his hind legs, the dragon stepped heavily out into the corridor, walking towards the cavern full of gold. A lantern followed them, illuminating the way, floating besides the dragon's head, keeping up with his steps.

Yeah, sure. Magic. Mmmhm.

In silence they traveled down past the mountains and mountains of gold, jiggling loudly with the dragon's every step.

"Am I insane?" Martin asked numbly.

"If insanity is involved here," the dragon sighed. "It has infected me, not you."

"Why's that?"

"I was never suppose to wake up."

Martin had no idea what that meant. But the dragon gave no further explanation and Martin wasn't going to ask.

As they walked past the gold, Martin couldn't help but look longingly at it, knowing he was never going to come back here. He didn't look forward to driving that van every hour of every day, studying like mad in between and counting, pinching every penny. Better that than risking... this again.

He suddenly noticed the dragon noticing him. Martin sunk in on himself. This was the dragon's gold, wasn't it? How was he going to react if he found out Martin had been stealing his gold?

The dragon stretched his other claw out, reaching over to one pile. Sticking out was a pouch filled with what looked like unstrung pearls. The dragon took it, turned it over, emptying the pouch, allowing the pearls to fall to the floor. Though Martin was surrounded by treasure, and those pearls were nothing compared to everything else around them, watching how callously the dragon empty the bag was hard.

The pouch now empty, the dragon stuck it back into the gold pile, dragging it along. He pulled it back out, overflowing with gold. He set the pouch on his hand, right next to Martin. "Here," it said. "It's yours."

Martin's shocked face stared up at him. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. Do you want more? You can take as much as you want."

"I..." This had to be a trick. Some sort of moral test like in the Canterbury tales or something. "Was that you before? The pounding and shaking and... lighting the ceiling on fire?"

"I apologize for that," the dragon said politely. "You woke me up. I was... startled."

The dragon was not a morning person. Okay.

Up ahead, Martin saw the hole that gave him access to this cave. It had not closed, but the sunlight shining through was significantly less. How long had he been down here?

He gave a little gasp as the dragon suddenly shuddered and began to grow. The dragon got bigger, longer, taller, and the hand Martin sat on expanded. The claws grew as well, becoming thick as tree trunks. Martin remembered when he was a boy and eagerly going to the museum to look at the reconstructed jaw of a megadolon shark. Not only were the dragon's claws bigger than the shark's teeth, but Martin bet this dragon ate megadolons as snacks.

The dragon lifted his hand up, right at the hole. "Will you be able to walk the rest of your way?" He was whispering as if to compensate for his voice growing along side with his body.

Martin's van wasn't parked that far away. It would be agonizing to climb down, and Martin was not looking forward to doing it. "Yes," he said. "I'll be fine."

The dragon drew the gold-filled pouch closed, his giant claws delicately picking up without tearing it. He tossed the pouch up and right through the hole. Martin heard the heavy thump from outside. He was going have to leave that pouch in the woods and come back for it later. There was no way he would be able to drag that along to the van with his ankle.

As Martin reached up to pull himself out, the dragon asked, "Will you come back?"

It sounded like an innocent enough question. But the dragon sounded desperate. Hurt, almost if Martin already said no. Martin had no plans to ever come back to the Cave of Wonders again. His greed nearly proved fatal. He had half a mind to leave that pouch in the woods, fearful it could have a curse on it.

"Of course," Martin lied.

The dragon pushed Martin up higher, letting him crawl out of the hole. Once he was out, Martin rolled a few feet away, stopping when he came upon a tree. He pushed himself up, took out his phone, and was grateful to see it have full four bars. The clock said it was three in the afternoon. Martin had been in the caves for nearly six hours.

The pouch of gold laid a few feet away, almost invisible to the eye, camouflaged with the surrounding foliage. Turning his back to both the pouch and hole, Martin began the slow, painful trek down the hill.


	3. Chapter 3

It took forever to get back to his van. Martin's ankle was protesting too much, forcing him to pause and rest every four steps. At some point he eventually sat down, and crab-walked the rest of the way. By the time he got back to his van, his arse was wet from dew, his hands cut and bruised, and his good leg aching from having to carry all the weight.

He didn't bring the bag of gold with him.

He drove himself to the hospital, explained to the worried nurse he fell in the woods. When asked why he didn't call for help, he said he didn't have signal.

Reminded about his mobile, Martin pulled it back out to check for messages. Did someone call him while he was down in that cave? Did anybody miss him?

None. No missed calls, no text messages. Martin had disappeared from the world for six hours and nobody noticed. He went to bed that night mentally and physically exhausted, and more lonely than he ever felt in his life.

Because of his now wrapped ankle, Martin was unable to do his job. He ended up canceling a week's worth of appointments, and had people scream at him about how lazy he was. Without that bag of gold, he would have to miss out on retaking his CPL for this month. It wouldn't be the first time Martin pushed back a test because he didn't have the funds.

That next day, with crutches in hand, Martin went to the library. After explaining to the librarian, no, he didn't want books on Lord of the Rings. No, he didn't want Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, D&D, or World of Warcraft, he wanted a book on _dragons_. A history, a study, not fiction fantasy books.

The librarian ended up giving him an odd look, but she did as he asked and pulled a few books from the shelves for him. Martin took the books and sat at a quiet corner. He didn't know why he was doing this. It's not as if he planned to go back to the cave.

His curiosity wouldn't let it go. The need for answers got him through a few hours of reading and a couple of pages of hand written notes. He had no idea if what he was writing down was true. It had to be true on a certain level. All that gold had to come from somewhere.

Based off from what he'd seen, these were a few notes Martin could deem as truth:

-Dragons were shape shifters. They could change shapes, sizes, possibly into other animals, even humans.

-They loved gold. ( _Duh_.)

-They were highly intelligent, highly cunning. Don't try to outwit them, because you'll only end up screwed. Or eaten.

" **EATEN** " Martin wrote down in big bold letters. He circled it five times with a red marker.

There were other notes Martin thought were of interest, though unconfirmed from his experiences.

\- Dragons hated other dragons. Except to mate, they avoided each others' presence like it was the plague.

-They did enjoy the company of humans, to a certain degree. Almost in the same way a human enjoyed the company of a dog.

Then in a separated bullet point, to the note above, Martin wrote down, _sometimes they mated with a human. Virgin princesses preferably._

Now that brought up a whole new list of questions Martin wasn't he wanted answered. How did the parts... _fit_? Did they even have the same parts? Martin decided to not think about it. He had enough on his plate.

 

 

 

 

 

Martin kept thinking about that bag of gold, even two months later. He seriously doubted someone had come across it. Not that many people had the same restraint he had and would certainly go to the press about it. He would have heard on the news someone found a bag full of ancient gold coins. Or maybe they did have such restraint.

Even more, he kept thinking about the his supposed "promise" to the dragon.

By this point he was sure the dragon had come to accept Martin had broken his word. At least the creature didn't come after him. For the first week back home, Martin kept waking up in the middle of the night, dreaming he was being carried off.

But it was mostly the gold he thought of. As another CPL test came and went, adding on another failure to his list, Martin found himself in familiar money woes. He could do what he always has done, work his arse off, beg and scrape and save like a madman. Or... OR he could go back to the woods, scoop up that bag, leave and never return.

Martin tried his best to resist the temptation as long as he could. Having money spoiled him. Already he was missing being able to buy the things he needed or wanted without worrying how much he was spending. Even as a lad, his parents pinched every penny and only indulged during the holidays. Surely he could resist longer than two measly months.

Martin resisted up to three.

When he went back into the woods, this time he came prepared. He had on his better running shoes, a small knife, his mobile phone- fully charged -in a protective case, and a backpack. There was no way was he going to lug around that gold in his arms.

Quietly Martin trekked up the hill to the special spot in the woods. When he came within thirty feet of where he knew the hole was, he stopped walking. Even from this distance he could see where the bag of gold laid untouched. A few leaves have fallen on top, and it was stained from exposure. Martin strained his ears to listen to the world around him, wondering if he could hear the dragon somewhere within the cave.

He thought about dashing forward, grabbing the gold and running. Except that bag alone must weigh at least fifty pounds. As fit as Martin was, not even he could run with fifty pounds on his back easily.

Was all of this really worth it? Didn't the Canterbury tales teach him greed would lead to his downfall? Go, just leave. You don't need it, it's not worth it.

Martin looked up to the sky. Against the stark blue were the dissipating white smoke lines of a passed aeroplane. Yes, he thought. It was worth it.

He took a breath to steer himself, then stepped forward towards the gold. He treaded lightly, stopping every few seconds to listen to the world around him. When he got close to the hole, he stepped even lighter, even more slowly, his body tensing. He kept expecting something to reach out and grab him.

He got to the gold without incident. He kneeled down, swung over his backpack and unzipped it. He reached out, picked up the bag of gold and-

With a grunt, he was able to lift it two inches before the weight of it made him put it back down. This weighed much more than fifty pounds. More than a hundred pounds. That was fine, he thought irritably. He didn't need all of it.

He pulled the strings loose on the pouch, opening it to reveal its treasure inside. Shifting through the gold coins would certainly make some noise in the quietness. Martin only picked up two pieces at a time, transferring them from pouch to his backpack. Even with this careful, methodical movement, Martin flinched every time one of the pieces clinked together.

"I was wondering if you were ever coming back."

Martin gave out a yelp, and threw himself back.

The dragon's large head was sticking out of the hole, staring at him with its giant, crimson/golden eyes. Here, in the better light, Martin could see the dragon's scales were like the colour of the forest, a deep, dark green rather than the near-black Martin had presumed to be earlier.

Should Martin tell the truth? I only came back for the gold? Then he remembered what he had circled five times back at the library. EATEN.

"Come," said the dragon, moving his head back down the hole. One of his claws came out instead, his palm facing up in invitation. "I'm making tea."

Martin thought about running. He had the shoes on, and he had at least ten pieces of gold in his backpack. He could do it.

Shakily, Martin crawled onto the dragon's open claw. If he got eaten, he'll only have himself to blame.

Like riding an express lift to hell, the dragon's claw descended into the cave, taking Martin with it. The familiar scene of the mountains of gold greeted him, though by now the novelty had worn off. Those strange, free-floating lanterns were everywhere, guiding the dragon's every step.

Martin didn't like being carried. He felt like he was going to be sacrificed to some volcano god. "I can walk."

"I like carrying you," said the dragon. "It's a welcoming weight."

Martin was not going to argue. "So..." He said, trying to think of another topic. "Do you have a name?"

Martin expected a fantastical name to match such a fantastical creature.

The dragon said, "Douglas."

"Douglas? _Douglas_? Your name is _Douglas_?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"No! Um... it's- it's a good name, is all."

"And may I ask your name?"

"Um... Martin."

Douglas halted.

He resumed his walk only a second later, but it was enough of a pause for anxiety to rise within Martin. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. I was just surprised. I'd imagine you would have a different name by now."

 _By now_? What the heck was he talking about?

Douglas ducked his head as they came to the passageway Martin remembered led to the bed of furs. Instead of going straight, Douglas took a left down another pathway, towards the place where Martin assumed was the tea.

They came upon an opened room, a large dining table sitting in the middle. Draped across it was a decorated clothe with stags and lions embroidered into it. Now the colours were greatly dulled, the clothe frayed and old. Off to the side, a giant cauldron hung above a fire. Martin could hear the water boiling from inside.

"Really?" Martin said as Douglas moved his claw to the floor, allowing him to get off. "A cauldron?"

"Yes. Why do you find that odd?"

Right. The dragon probably has never heard of a kettle before. "No reason."

Douglas sighed. Dragons were capable of sighing? "I understand the world outside of my caves has changed. Men were always the first to adapt. I can only imagine how different it must be."

"Er... right. Do you even know how long you've been down here?"

"When I went to sleep, it was the year of our Lord, 1345. What year is it now?"

Martin's mouth dropped. _1345_? Jesus Christ, this _thing_ had been under here for nearly a _thousand years_? Impossible. "How are you even alive right now?"

Douglas frowned. "What year is it?"

"I think the water is boiling."

" _Martin_ ," the dragon hissed. "How long have I been asleep?"

Oh god, Martin was going to be eaten. "It's 2014. The twenty-first century."

Douglas blinked. "That's it?" He said. He reached out and pulled the cauldron away from the flames. "And here I thought it been longer."

"I'm sorry, but I do not have the proper cups for tea," he said, going over to a small pile of treasure in a corner. He shifted through the coins, then pulled out a golden goblet with jewels encased on the sides, and a large silver bowl. "All of my cups have been shattered over the years."

He scooped the boiling water out of the cauldron, setting the golden cup in front of Martin. "So you don't care?" Martin asked. "That you've been asleep for so long?"

"It's not as if I have family to miss," Douglas said. Martin remembered his notes on dragons and their relationships with their own kin. "And I've been alive long enough to stop caring about the passage of time."

"Oh. How old are you?"

"I stopped counting shortly after the three thousand mark."

Martin pinched himself to check if he was dreaming. When he didn't wake up, he groaned out loud. Here he was, in a cave filled with treasure, talking to a mythical creature that was over four thousand years old, ready to drink tea from a jewel incrusted golden goblet. How did his life get to be here?

"Is something a matter?" Douglas asked.

"No," Martin said, pulling the golden cup to him. "Nothing, nothing at all."

The liquid inside the cup was dark, darker than any tea he has ever drunken. First he sniffed it, then took a small, careful sip. He licked his lips. "That's not bad."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naughty stuff near the end of this chapter, just fyi. ;)

As good as the tea was, Martin was hesitant to drink more than a few sips. The dragon just admitted he didn't have a proper tea set. If that was true, then where did he get the tea? As far as Martin could tell, he had not seen plant life down here in the caves.

"How do you know English?"

"Excuse me?" Douglas said, placing down his silver bowl. "I _am_ English."

"Yeah, but... languages change. The same words and accents used in your time have all but disappeared by now. I shouldn't be able to understand you."

"Martin, look around you. Lanterns float by themselves. The stone walls are smooth to the touch, showing no evidence tools were ever used on them. My caves are endless, supporting a vast forest on top and in the thousand years I've been asleep, it has not collapsed. And the one question you felt the urge to ask is _how I am talking to you_?"

"I am not an idiot!" Martin squeaked. "I read it all the time, languages changes every day! Cultures influence other cultures, words are replaced by others, technological advances omits certain words all together! If you're really from the 1300s, you should sound completely alien to me!"

"Martin, I am speaking... _alien_ to you."

"Huh?"

"Dragons have the ability to generate their own magic. The lanterns, the caves, they react to my will. I want the caves to stand because I am allowing it. I want you to understand me because I am allowing it. Should I choose to take the spell off, I assume I will sound very different than you expect."

"You're... you're influencing the way I hear you?"

"Yes."

Martin didn't like that. As cool as it sounded, he suddenly wondered if Douglas was also capable of influencing Martin's mind, like some kind of Jedi trick. "I think... I think I should go."

"Already? But you haven't finished your tea yet."

"I have... I have work. I need to, um, yeah, go..."

This was it. This was the last time Martin was ever coming back here. This proved to be too much risk and Martin was not going to die before getting a chance to taste the sky. He would rather _starve_ in the streets than come back here for more gold.

"Do you still like flying?"

What was _with_ these questions in past tense? It didn't make any sense. "Yes, I do," Martin said. He was still moving towards the exit. "I'm trying to become a pilot."

"Well," said Douglas. He wiggled his wings. "I can take you flying, if you want."

That stopped Martin in his tracks. "I- what, really?"

Douglas beamed. He sat back on his hind legs. Slowly, he unfurled his wings, spreading them out. Even in this room, as large as it was, Douglas could not fully extend his them. They were like bat wings, with a thin membrane over bone.

They were the most beautiful things Martin has ever seen.

He closed his mouth when he realized he was gaping like an idiot. "Yes," he blurted out. "Yes, yes, oh god, YES!"

He slapped a hand over his mouth, embarrassed by his own eagerness. "Yes," he said again, this time almost whispering it. "I... I would very much so like to do that."

"Come," Douglas said, pulling his wings back. "Let's go outside."

 

 

 

 

 

Wasn't Martin just moaning five minutes ago he believed he was being brainwashed? How did he know he wasn't being brainwashed _right now_?

Because this was the same feeling he had when he was child and saw an aeroplane up close for the very first time. It was the same feeling he had when he was fourteen and had flown in an one-engine plane with his uncle. It was an indescribable feeling, and it filled Martin with hope and love and freedom every time he left the boundaries of earth. There was no way Douglas could recreate that.

But Martin still had his reservations. He watched Douglas climb out of the hole. The horns on his sides picked up moss from the surrounding areas, and it dangled like a small green blanket from his elbows. At the moment Douglas was the size of a Great Dane, but his long neck still made him taller than Martin. "Mmm..." he murmured deeply, shaking out his body and dislodging the moss. "It feels good to be outside."

"I'm not sure we can do this," Martin said.

"Why not?"

"Have you ever heard of something called, _sonar_? It's a machine that allows people to track large, moving objects in the sky."

Douglas huffed. "I am faster than any machine built by man."

"Douglas, these machines can track objects going at least three hundred miles per hour. And if I am on your back, you can't fly that fast otherwise I'll fall off and die. If the machines ping you, they'll think you're some kind of threat and blow you out of the sky!"

As much as Martin wanted to fly, he certainly didn't want his own country sending jet planes after him.

"Martin, I've lived in a mile-wide underground cave for the past thousand years. If your machines haven't found me yet, they won't find me now."

"Yes, but-"

"Do you trust me?"

Martin didn't even know him. This was, what? The _third_ time he's actually talked to this dragon? Martin has had longer conversations with telemarketers.

Douglas grew in size. He was now about the size of a car, and he bent low, spreading out his wings, silently inviting Martin to climb on. Before his mind could remind him he wasn't sure he could trust Douglas, Martin was already scrambling to get on.

He swung his leg over Douglas' back, unsure where to put his hands, his knees, or his feet. At least on horses they had stirrups and grips. Here, Martin wasn't sure where to grab.

"You can hold onto the horn in front of you," Douglas said. "Tuck your legs in, place your feet up against my elbows. There, see? There will be moments in which you'll feel like falling, but you're not. I won't let you. I'll go slow and easy today and once you get used to the feel, we can go faster."

"Um... okay... okay..."

"Got a good grip?"

"Yes. Um... Yes."

Douglas shifted, letting Martin to get an idea to the way the muscles moved underneath his legs. Douglas then started off on a light trot. As a child Martin has ridden horses at fairs, and this was sort of similar. Martin bounced lightly as the dragon gained speed. His wings weren't out, and at the moment Martin couldn't even brace his feet against Douglas' legs because they were moving too much.

"Is that a cliff in front of us?" Douglas suddenly asked, moving towards it.

Martin has roamed these forests enough to know that 'cliff' was actually just a small dip in the land, only a meter high. "Not really."

"Good enough!" Douglas declared. Martin squealed as Douglas suddenly sprinted right for it. Martin tightened his grip in anticipation.

Douglas hit the edge of the dip, pushed himself off and spread out his wings.

For a glorious ten seconds they glided, sailing through the air like a leaf on the wind. Martin gasped. Butterflies bloomed inside of his stomach, stealing all his fears and hesitations. This was incredible.

Douglas hit the ground running again, jarring Martin out of his momentary blissful state. "I need more air!" Douglas said, still running full hilt. "Cliff! Give me a cliff!"

"Um... turn right!"

Douglas jumped, bounced off a tree and kept going. Such movement could've easily jerked Martin off, but he held on, his thighs clenching so tightly against Douglas' body it almost hurt.

He didn't care. He was having too much fun. "Up ahead! In one hundred feet! Jump off there!"

Douglas picked up speed. His legs were going so fast now, Martin could barely feel him move. The edge was rapidly coming up to meet them and Martin braced himself for take off. Douglas spread out his wings and _jumped_.

Martin screamed when they left the earth.

Douglas didn't fly high, just enough to skim above the tree line. His wings beat in time with Martin's heartbeat. They were so large and beautiful, Martin could barely take his eyes off of them. He wanted to look at everything. Douglas' wings, the trees, the open sky, the far off distance. The wind bit at his skin, cold and bitter and he loved every second of it.

The flight ended sooner than Martin wanted. Douglas drifted down, flapping his wings forward to slow their decent. He landed with a slight _fwump_ , disrupting a large portion of dandelion seeds, sending them all in flight. Martin slid off his back. The floating pods looked like snow and they caught in Martin's hair and clothes. He didn't care. He still so giddy he was practically shaking.

No, he _was_ shaking. His hands and knees were trembling, his heart beating so hard he could feel his ribcage vibrate. He has never experienced such a thing in his life and he wanted to cry from it. That was incredible.

"Oh... head rush..." Martin groaned, putting out a hand to lean against a tree. He was still grinning.

He felt something tap him on his shoulder, and he blinked, seeing Douglas' claw next to him. The claw gently pushed him to turn around, so his back pressed against the tree.

Douglas was bigger now, his face so large it practically took all the space in Martin's eye line. "You're hard."

"What...?" Martin glanced down. Through the excitement and adrenaline rush, he hadn't noticed he got an _erection_ during the flight. There it was, in its all embarrassing glory. It was so obscene- Martin's happiness suddenly drained, replacing it was horrifying humiliation. "Oh god, Douglas, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Undo your trousers."

Martin's glanced back up at him. "What?"

Douglas lowered his head and pressed his snout against Martin's crotch. The sudden rush of pleasure had Martin gasping, his hands scrambling for purchase, settling on the front of Douglas' snout. It moved slowly in a circular way, and Martin couldn't help but press his hips in, seeking out more friction.

"Undo your trousers," Douglas murmured again. "Let me take care of you."

His brain muddled with lust, Martin's hands immediately went to his belt and began unbuckling it. He got the loop off when he stilled, taking a second to breath in deeply, to focus himself. He shouldn't be doing this. This was wrong... probably. Was it wrong? He didn't know, he didn't know, but as Douglas fluttered out his wings, repositioning them more comfortably against his back, Martin's thoughts drifted away.

Trembling, he opened the front of his trousers, pushing both them and his boxers down to his thighs, exposing himself. Once he was done, he flittered his hands away, pressing them against the tree behind him, almost bracing himself. The moment he saw Douglas' tongue slither out of his mouth, Martin closed his eyes and turned his head away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is rated M for naughty stuff.

Martin couldn't believe he just did that.

Was it wrong? He just had oral _sex_ with a mythical creature. Martin was pretty sure the rules didn't cover this.

Even more, _he_ _liked_ _it_.

Martin also never had sex outside, so that added on a certain kink he didn't know he had. Douglas' tongue was so warm, so soft. Every lick was perfect, every swipe, every slow drag across Martin's balls had him crying out. The moment Douglas' tongue was on him, Martin didn't think about consequences. It felt so good...

"Please," Martin remembered himself begging. His hands were laid flat across Douglas' snout, holding himself up as the tongue rubbed obscenely against him. "Please, don't stop... please..."

Douglas hummed appreciatively, enjoying Martin's gasps. He continued with the same same speed and pressure, even as Martin asked him to go faster.

At some point Martin's legs couldn't hold himself up any longer, and he slid down to the ground with his ankles tangled up in his trousers, his arse wet from dew. He must looked like a fool and yet Douglas' tongue followed him, lavishing sweet attention until Martin shuddered against it and came.

From where he laid, Martin could see in between Douglas' hind legs and at the _monstrous thing_ hanging out in erect. Did... did the dragon expected Martin reciprocate? Fully?

"Mmm..." Douglas purred as he nuzzled Martin's navel. "I love doing that to you."

There it was again. This... odd use of familiar past tense. "What?" Martin said. His voice was still heavy with post-orgasmic bliss. "What do you mean?"

"You're so sensitive," Douglas said. One of his claws came up and started tugging at Martin's shirt buttons. "Take this off. I want to taste your nipples."

"Don't use your claws... jeeze, this was a new shirt!"

"I'll give you more gold to commission a seamstress to make you a new shirt. I have the finest silk from the Imperials of China, you could use those. I'll dress you in pearls, silver, necklaces of jade to hide you if you feel you must. But I prefer you in gold. Yes, gold fabric should only touch your skin."

He spoke as Martin carefully undid the rest of his buttons, his mouth opened at the declaration. "Why would you want to do such a thing?"

"You should be decked in gold..." Douglas murmured, lowering his head to Martin's chest.

 

 

 

 

 

Martin could barely concentrate on the ride back to the caves. His whole body tingled, every inch of his skin wanting to be touched, heightened to a point where every bump vibrated through him. He wasn't hard, not yet at least.

Douglas didn't fly this time, choosing to walk through the forest with an exaggerated strut. He was also displaying a smug, toothy smile. Every time he turned his long neck back to glance back at Martin, a satisfied low tone growl came out of his mouth.

"Are we going to...?" Martin couldn't say it.

"Oh yes..." Douglas said. "But I want you somewhere comfortable. The forest floor, as stable as it is, is not suitable. I don't want you injuring your knees."

Oh God. "Do... do you have lube?"

"Lube?"

"Um... for... to ease... the way?"

"Oh. My saliva will do."

"Now wait a minute, saliva won't-"

"Mine will. Dragon, remember? Depending on what I need it for, it can help heal wounds, ease pain, act as a lubricant or...heighten pleasure."

"Is that why I feel so...?

"Desirable?"

"I was going to say _tingly_."

"If you don't care much for the sensation, all you need to do is wash it off. There is a hot spring in my caves if you wish to bathe. Do you want to stop?"

There it was: an out. No need to see if the parts fit. Martin could go through life without that knowledge.

"No," said Martin. "I can bathe later."

There was still hesitation trembling deep in his stomach and a small part of him wanted out. Was he going to fast or was there something truly wrong with this?

Moral crisis aside, Martin has never felt so happy. After spending so many _years_ working towards his CPL, working his two jobs to afford the tests, enduring the sleepless nights, he was just so goddamn tired. Flying on Douglas' back was, perhaps, the best thing he has ever done in his life.

He didn't want this stop.

By the time they got back to the Cave of Wonders, Martin was already palming himself impatiently. His exposed, torn shirt allowed cool air to brush over his chest, making him shudder. While one hand touched himself, his other hand kept brushing over his collar bone, back and forth, back and forth.

"Eager?" Douglas said, dropping Martin on top of the bed of furs.

"You should market this stuff," Martin said, scooting himself back to a more comfortable position. He shed his shirt (might as well just throw it away) and worked off his trousers.

"I'm not for sale," Douglas said, watching him, enjoying the striptease. "Is this your first time?"

"At sex? No. Anal sex? No. With a dragon? Yes. Big fat yes on that box."

Douglas chuckled. "I remember your first time..."

Okay, that was it. Martin could pass it off as a grammar mistake, but it happened too often to ignore it now. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Saying what?"

"That... past tense. You talk like you've known me for years."

Douglas blinked at him. "Martin... don't act like you don't know."

"Know _what?_ I don't know what you're talking about."

Suddenly the wonderful tingly sensation was not so wonderful anymore. It felt more like an annoying itch, and Martin felt the urge to dig his fingernails into his own skin.

"You must have felt it or sensed it somehow," Douglas continued. "For fuck's sake, your name is the same! The coincidence is too much!"

"Coincidence...?"

"I can handle a similar appearance. After all, sons look like their fathers, but you even have the same _mole_ on your hip."

Martin looked down at his little birth mark dotting on his hip bone. He pulled his ruin shirt over to cover it.

"Your voice is the same, your hair, your love of flying-!"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Martin..." Douglas breathed. "You... you are the reincarnation of my..."

"Of _what_?"

"Fuck, there's no way getting around this. Of my _spouse_ , Martin. You and I, we were together in marriage in the past. Then you died and I thought that would be the last I ever see you again, and yet here you are! You look the same, you sound the same, you even have the same name!"

Martin couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're saying I'm the reincarnation of... no, that's the stupidest thing I ever heard! Reincarnation is not real-!"

"You didn't believe I was real."

"I'm not even religious!" Martin yelled at him. "And... married! So the only reason you wanted to be with me was because... I reminded you of your dead _pet?_ "

Douglas surged back, angry. "He was _not_ my pet. He- _You_ were my spouse!"

"I am not! This is... creepy. It's creepy. I... I refuse to be a part of this." He started to pull up his trousers.

"Martin-"

"I'm going," Martin said. He tried to see if he could slip back on his shirt. Knowing it was ruined, he tossed it aside, forgetting about it. His skin itched fiercely.

Thankfully Douglas didn't follow him as Martin practically ran out of there. A floating lantern followed him, illuminating his entire trek back to the hole. He barely gave the mountains of gold a second look.

As Martin scrambled up the slope, he heard Douglas say behind him, "Will you come back?"

His voice came as an echo, and when Martin looked over his shoulder, Douglas was nowhere to be seen. The mountains of gold sat there, preserved in their spots. Martin wondered if it sits there for another thousand years, would it turn back into rock?

"No," he finally said. He didn't say it loudly, not even loud enough to create an echo.

When Douglas didn't answer back, Martin turned back to climb out of the hole. He was going to forget about this place. Leave it alone, let it go back into obscurity, let time forget about it again.

Back out in the sunlight, the shining bag of gold mocked him. Martin strode forward, only scooped less than a handful out of the bag, and threw it into his backpack. He got greedy and he was not going to be greedy again. He learned his lesson.

As a last moment of defiance, he hoisted the gold-filled bag up, dragged it over to the hole and tossed it in. He heard it clatter far down below.

Martin swung his backpack over his naked shoulder, and started the trek back to his van.


	6. Chapter 6

"What made you decide to take on a human spouse?"

"You mean the first time around?"

"Yes. Surely you didn't wake up one day and decided to marry one of us. What pushed you to that decision? What ultimately changed your mind?"

"Hmmm... not so much a decision but an opportunity. A king had offered me his daughter in exchange for protection over his navy. At the time I didn't want to be ladened with some human, some girl who would wail and cry during the entirety of the marriage. A union with a human was not worth the time and effort I would place into protecting navy ships. The king then offered me gold, pirate gold taken from the lands of Vinland. Now that peaked my interest, so I agreed. Amelie' and I were married within a month's time and I was a much richer dragon after that."

"Did you like her?"

"For the first two months of our marriage, I ignored her. We never talked, never ate together, never slept together-"

"Never had sex?"

"Good Lord, no! Up to that point, Martin, sex for me only involved mating. Not for pleasure. Why have sex if she couldn't breed my kin? As far as I knew, she was just an extra body in my cave."

"On our first night, you said psychics could tell if we didn't consummate. Were you speaking from experience?"

"It took nearly four months for the subject to be brought up, but yes. The king sent me a very worried, very angry letter, asking why I had not consummated the marriage with his daughter yet. People were getting worried about my loyalty, about my promises. Rumours spread how the daughter was so hideous, not even a beast wanted to touch her. If we didn't have sex before the sixth month was up, our contract would be considered void and false, and that would have created a whole mess of political backlash."

"So you realized you needed to have sex as soon as possible. How did Amelie' take it?"

"When I told her? Do you know what she said? _About goddamn time_."

Martin laughed. He curled, then stretched out, releshing how good he felt. The two orgasms Douglas was able to coax out of him helped. Martin laid there, loose-limbed and nude, loving the soft fur against his skin."So what was it like, experiencing sex for pleasure for the first time in a thousand years?"

"Eye-opening," Douglas crooned, rubbing his snout against Martin's naked belly. "Amazing. And I wanted to throw myself off a cliff for denying myself such a thing for so long. Sex opened up a whole new relationship with Amelie'. I wanted to be with her all the time. She was interesting, lovely, intelligent. She spoke thirteen languages. I never knew that about her. And after she died, I sought out a new human spouse."

"You make it sound like we are pets," Martin said, a little peeved.

"Much more than pets. As the years passed, I saw how... quickly humanity moved along. You grow, you develop, you learn from your mistakes and then pass it onto your children. When I first came into this world, you humans used bronze for your weapons. Breakable, frail metal it was. Now, it's iron, and it has pushed your civilization beyond even my imagination. I don't change, Martin. You change."

Martin ran his hand over Douglas' snout, touching the sensitive spots he knew Douglas liked. With a firm touch in a single direction, the scales didn't hurt him. They felt like soft, warm metal, reacting to his touch. "Do you love me?"

"I _adore_ you."

"That's not what I asked."

"I can't, Martin," Douglas said, pulling away from his touch. "Don't ask me to love you, because I can't. A human's life span is nothing to me. You won't be here a hundred years from now, and if I fall in love-"

"Not really a choice."

"For me it is. Don't ask me to love you, Martin. It would be too painful."

 

 

 

 

 

Martin woke up. He blinked rapidly into the darkness, disoriented, trying to tell if what he dreamt was real or fantasy. As he slowly became more aware of himself, Martin gave out a quiet little sob, and curled in on himself.

Though nobody was around to hear him, he bit his knuckles to muffle himself.

This was the fourth time Martin dreamt that conversation with Douglas. The past three times the words were distorted, the images fuzzy, and Martin often forgot the dream once lunch time rolled around.

Tonight was the first time it was so clear, Martin swore he could still smell the dragon's scales- like the forest after a rain storm.

Never in his life did he feel so alone, so heartbroken. He laid there, tears sliding out of his eyes, soaking into his pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back to Douglas.

"It's not real," he gasped into the darkness. "I'm not him."

He refused to believe he was the reincarnation of some... prince a thousand years ago. Weren't they still in the iron age a thousand years ago? There was no way Martin could be the same person, especially not from a time where the concept of putting feathers on arrows was still a theory.

Was what he was feeling even real? Was _he_ real- his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams, his ambitions? Was the whole point of his life leading up to this? Was this his _fate_?

He needed to stay away. To protect himself, his sanity, he needed to stay away.

 

 

 

 

 

In all, Martin had about twenty gold coins left to sell. He sold most of it to the local universities and museums. Selling it online was a bit more tricky because people wanted proof of authenticity before buying, and that was something Martin could not get, not without consulting more people, exposing himself openly.

Another CPL test came and went, draining his savings and his confidence. It didn't really surprised him, he should've skipped this month's test. He was so out of it, felt so distracted, he was surprised the overseer didn't chastised him for blanking out.

He needed to find a way to get over this. Get a new hobby or something. If he didn't distract himself soon, he was going to go mad. He should sell the last of the coins, get rid of any reminders of the dragon and move on with his life.

Martin didn't want to go back to Mr. Prudders. He was the first historian he sold the coins to and the old man was practically _salivating_ over them when Martin handed them over. But Prudders gave the most money for them and has been eagerly emailing Martin for the past couple months if he had any more coins to sell.

These last twenty coins should cover Martin's next test and the rest of the year's expenses. That's a good idea. Just get rid of them in one fell swoop and be done with it.

Nodding in satisfaction, Martin emailed Mr. Prudders to make arrangements.

The next day Martin had an appointment at the local museum to sell the coins. Mr. Prudders wasted no time emailing Martin back, responding in less than an hour about a time and place. Geeze, were these coins that valuable to him? Martin wondered if he was being swindled.

"Mr. Crieff!" Prudders greeted him warmly. "It's so good to see you!" He ran up to Martin, shook his hand for nearly ten long seconds, and stepped forward, as if wanting to hug him.

Martin took a half step back, quickly bringing up the bag with the coins to put between them. "Um... here they are."

"Ah, wonderful. Come, come, come to my office. There we'll discuss payment."

Martin was surprised to see the museum so empty on a Saturday. Okay, so the history of exploring ships may not be the most exciting thing in the world, but the museum looked closed. Martin didn't comment on it. Prudders might be offended.

The moment Martin stepped into Prudder's office, he knew right away something was very, very wrong.

There were two men there, waiting. One was leaning against Prudder's desk, and the other was quietly examining the paintings on the wall. Both were very muscular men, tall and thick. When Martin walked in, both of them turned to face him.

From behind, Prudders locked the office door.

"What is this?" Martin said, panic rising in his voice. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Calm down, Mr. Crieff," Prudders said. "These are my associates and they're here merely to act as... buffers."

Both men chuckled.

"Buffers for what?"

"Where did you get the coins, Mr. Crieff?"

Gone was the Father Christmas personality from Prudder's face. He was no longer smiling, his eyes cold and serious. Suddenly Martin was more afraid of him than the two brutish-looking men instead. "I told you," Martin swallowed. "My grandfather left them for me when he died."

Prudder tsked disapprovingly. "Now I know that is a lie. I've been following your antics online, Mr. Crieff. Oh yes, I noticed. The world of history preservation is not as big as you think. We do sit up when things happen. You've sold quite a number of coins, more than any grandfather should have. You obviously found a treasure chest somewhere. Tell me where."

"Treasure _chest_? Who do you think I am-? _Long John Silver?_ "

Prudders was not amused by Martin's book reference. Prudder's eyes turned to one of the burly men, gave a quick nod of his head, and suddenly Martin found himself on the office floor, his arm pulled painfully behind him, wrenching a painful cry out of him. "AUGH!"

The other man took Martin's bag from him. The drawstring was pulled open and the man stuck his hand in, grabbing a fistful of coins. He pulled his arm out, showed it off, letting the coins fall freely from his palm back into the bag. The coins clinked loudly in the quiet office.

Prudders huffed. "Long John Silver you may not be, but treasure haul you do have. Tell me where."

"I don't-"

The man gripped Martin's arm tighter, forcing him to cry out again. It felt like his arm was going to pop out of its socket. "Stop! Stop!"

"Tell mere where you are keeping your treasure!" Prudders yelled. "Otherwise my associate here is going to rip your arm off!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

"It's here."

"Here?" Prudders said, staring into the woods. He eyed the _Do Not Enter_ sign on one of the trees. "This is private property."

"I came here all the time as a kid," Martin said. "It's more or less been abandoned. The owners don't come to check unless they have a reason to."

"So you're a little _thief_ , huh?" Prudders sneered. "Now I don't feel so bad for taking this away from you."

Martin said nothing. His wrists hurt from the way the zip-ties was digging into his skin. They tied two of them on him. The first one he could probably break from sheer strength but a second one was too much. If they added a third he would probably lose all feeling in his fingers.

"Show us where," Prudders commanded.

The brute behind Martin didn't even give him a chance to respond and nudged him rather painfully between the shoulders blades, forcing him to stumble forward. Catching himself, Martin scowled at the man, then kept walking, doing his best to keep his calm.

He didn't tell them about the giant fucking dragon guarding the gold.

Good god, was Martin leading them to their death? He didn't want them to die, he just wanted them arrested. Gone. If he brought these men down there in front of Douglas, they could be killed instantaneously. Was that something Martin was willing to have on his conscious?

Then again, these men threatened Martin with physical violence. Maybe once Martin gave them what they wanted, they'll have no use for him anymore.

Martin was shoved again, and he stumbled forward, tripping over his feet. "God, just stop it!"

"You're moving too slow," Prudders said. "Don't give me the idea that you're stalling. Keep moving. Get up. I said, _get up._ "

They didn't help him up. With his hands tied behind his back, it was a struggle to get back to his feet without falling down again. Fuck, his hands felt wet. The zip-ties must've cut into his wrists.

Deeper and deeper he took them into the woods. This was such a bad idea. If they decided to kill him before he got them to the caves, nobody would find his body for weeks. He didn't even know if Douglas would come to his rescue. Martin had called the dragon _creepy_ and basically told him to fuck off. Douglas owed him nothing.

Sweat poured down Martin's back, making his shirt cling to him uncomfortably. He was on the edge of a panic attack. Martin bit down on his tongue harshly to keep that from happening. He needed to keep his mind straight. Just get to the cave. Get to the cave, get to the cave, get to the cave.

When he finally saw the familiar broken log, he nearly cried in happiness. "There. It's over there."

"Down there?" Prudders shined a light over the dark hole. "You're fucking with me."

"No. It's down there, I swear."

"Fine. You first, then."

"I... are you going to set my hands free? I need them to climb down."

"Nope."

One of the brutes grabbed Martin by the back of his collar, dragged him over and and started shoving him down the hole. "Stop!" He yelled. "It's steep! You're going to make me-"

Martin's leg slipped out from underneath him. With a cry, he tumbled down into the darkness, rolling over and over and over, unable to protect his face or his hands. He slammed against the ground, finally stopping.

Everything hurt. His face was scratched, his shoulders ached, one of his shoes was missing and his hands- good god, his _hands_. They hurt the most. Was one of them broken? His wrists were bleeding freely now, there was no mistaking that sensation.

He had to move, had to get up, but he was in so much pain he could barely curl into a fetal position.

"Good god," Prudders breathed out loud from high above. "Oh my god, you two have to see this!"

Martin forced himself to sit up, gritting his teeth as his body unwillingly obliged him. He saw Prudders and the other two fools slowly coming down the steep dirt hill, their lights flashing on the mountains of gold, their mouths wide opened. All of them gave equal squeals of greedy joy.

"Fucking-a, Crieff! I can't believe you kept this all to yourself!"

Martin got to his feet. For a moment his knee collapsed, forcing him to kneel. "Douglas!" He cried out suddenly. "Douglas, help me!"

All of the lights fell upon him. "Douglas? You got someone here?"

Martin pushed himself up again, nearly tripping over a pearl necklace three feet long. "Douglas!" He yelled out, running forward. "Douglas!"

The magical lanterns that once illuminated this place were gone. All there was was gold and never ending blackness. Martin didn't know where he was going, his path illuminated just barely by the torches from behind, chasing him.

"Douglas!" He was getting tired. With his arms still tied behind his back, breathing was problematic. "Douglas! Doug-"

He tripped over something. He was only surprised it didn't happen sooner. With a groan, he managed to get up on his knees to see.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell is that? A fucking statue?"

The others caught up with them, stopping briefly to stare at the giant stone statue in front of them. The statue of Douglas.

Martin stared at it, mouth slightly gaped opened, blinking in confusion. This... this wasn't here before. It looked like someone carved a Douglas-shaped stone statue in excruciating detail. Even in this terrible light, Martin could see Douglas' scales, the small scratches on his claws, the way the stone dipped and curled to form his weight. Douglas' eyes were closed, his head lowered to the ground, like a dog who has gone to sleep.

_With nothing to tether them to this world, dragons forget themselves._

A voice deep inside Martin provided the fact, and he didn't question who it was or where it came from. That didn't matter. He was too focused on the statue in front of him, the dawning realization what this was.

Douglas had died. At some point after Martin left him, he just... died.

"Douglas?" Martin whispered, inching closer. "Douglas, please."

"What the hell? Are you talking to that statue?"

Oh god, Martin didn't want _this_. He didn't want Douglas to die because of him. This had to be something else, something Martin didn't understand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long. I'm sorry."

He kneeled down next Douglas' stone claw. He gently pressed his forehead against the cool rock, screwing up his face to keep from crying. "I'm not going anywhere, not again."

A hand grabbed his hair, wrenching him back with a startled cry. For an old guy, Prudders had amazing strength. "Now what do we have here?" Prudders said with a sneer, throwing Martin to the ground. "What's going on? Do you have a security system set up?"

Martin shifted, tried to get up again only for a boot to slam down upon his shoulder, keeping him still. "Gah, fuck!"

"Thank you for showing this to us, Martin," Prudders said in a rather disturbing final tone. "I'll be sure to keep your name recorded in our museum's archives."

One of the brutes pulled out a piano wire from his back pocket. He wrapped it around his hands a few times, pulling it taunt.

"No..." Martin breathed, trying to move. The boot pressed down harder, hurting him more. "No! I showed you this place! You can't-!"

_I just wanted to fly. That's all I ever wanted. I never cared about fame or fortune, I just wanted to fly. Riding on Douglas' back was the best day of my life and it can't end here, like this..._

_"Do you love me?"_

_"I adore you."_

There was no point in screaming. Martin scrunched his eyes shut as he felt the wire go around his neck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For days Douglas avoided talking to him. Martin had seen this type of behaviour in his father days after the doctor had told him his wife was dying of consumption. His dad would spend hours in the library, avoiding all, refusing to accept the truth.

When Douglas finally made an effort to come back to Martin, Martin wasn't in the mood. "Have you finally got over your fit?"

Douglas looked miserable. His head hanged low, his scales a pale, ugly green. "This isn't easy for me."

Martin huffed. He reached down and accepted a tea cup from one of the elves. He stirred the spoon around aggressively. "Yes, I suppose _my dying_ would be hard for you. Never mind that the shock could be hard for... oh, I don't know... me."

He sipped his tea with a sour expression.

The dragon drooped his head even lower. "I have lived through this many times. You have no idea-"

"No idea, he says. I don't know why you're being so dramatic. You're just going to get another spouse-"

"I don't want another spouse! Why the hell would I want that? So I can experience this again and again?"

"You've been avoiding me for the past three days. What else am I suppose to think? Now that I am broken, you can go out find yourself someone younger, stronger-"

"You know damn well that's not what I-"

"I am the one dying, Douglas!" Martin snapped at him. "Me. Not you. As scary and harsh this may be for you, it's a million times worse for me. So put away your ego, and comfort me, goddamn it."

Douglas breathed in and out harshly, his whole body trembling. For a startling second Martin thought he was going to walk away and disappear again for another three days. Finally he moved, shifting forward to lay his head down on Martin's lap. "I don't want you to go."

"Not really a choice."

Martin petted his scales, tugged lightly on the small horns, taking pleasure in their softness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The familiar sensation of the sting of an IV came to him first. Martin blinked, his consciousness slowly coming back to him. He lifted his arm, staring dully at the needle tapped to the inside of his elbow. On his right hand he had a heart monitor clamped over his finger.

Slowly he flexed his limbs, one by one, assuring himself nothing was broken. Nothing felt broken or sprained or burnt or cut off. There was a breathing apparatus inserted into his nostrils and that was pretty annoying.

Good god, what happened?

He remembered Prudders and having the wire wrapping around his neck. Martin reached up and touched his skin. It was a little sore, like a bad sunburn. Thoroughly confused now, he reached down, grabbed the call button for a nurse and pressed it.

The curtains were drawn but the sun shined through them. What time was it?

"Hello," Martin said as soon as the nurse came. "What happened to me?"

"You've been asleep for three days. How do you feel?"

Martin tried to sit up and stopped abruptly. There was a catheter inserted into himself. The nurse kept talking as Martin carefully sat up, his body aware of every movement he made.

"According to the police, that forest- you know, that eighty acre land owned by the Lawerens?- It collapsed! They're still investigating but it looks like it was the work of a giant sink hole. Were you visiting?"

Collapsed? Martin never got around to accurately measure the space in the Cave of Wonders. He could only imagine what would happen if the structure of the entire place came crashing down. Holy crap, how did he get out alive?

"I'm sorry..." Martin blinked, realizing the nurse asked him a question. "What was that?"

"Were you visiting? Because you were found, unconscious, just right outside of the damage. The police said you were propped up against a tree like you decided to nap there."

A tremble went through Martin. His heart skipped a beat.

The sudden irregular beat showed up on the heart monitor and the nurse took notice. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I... you just rest, sweetie. Gather yourself together and I'll let a doctor talk to you about everything."

"Wait... were there other people there?" Like two thugs and an arsehole?

"Yes. Three, actually. You're lucky, you only got away with a concussion. All three of them are suffering from broken bones, lacerations, and it took workers hours to dig them out of the dirt. Now you rest. I'll go grab a doctor for you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doctors questioned him. The police questioned him. His family questioned him. When news journalists tried to push their way inside his room, Martin put his foot down and told them all to piss off. Thankfully the hospital backed him in this decision and drove them all away. They didn't mind much. They had a better time questioning Prudders who ranted and raved about a 'dragon' and 'city of gold.' Neither of which was found in the wreckage.

Then again, it could be years before they find anything. Over a mile of the forest had fallen in. Martin watched on the news of helicopters flying over the gigantic hole, recording and estimating its size. Scientists from all over the world were flying down to look over the damage. Maybe they will find the gold.

Maybe they'll eventually find the stone dragon, forever buried once again.

When Martin was seven, he had experienced one of the worst ice storms in his life. It rained ice cold all night. When it was finally over, the whole neighbourhood had frozen over.

Martin had gone outside to inspect his bike, to see if the ice had done any damage to its tires. What he found instead, sitting on the handle bars, was a bird.

 _Like glass_ , Martin remembered thinking as he stared at the ice covering the body. The poor thing had frozen to death in the middle of the night, huddled down in that spot.

It was one of the most heartbreaking moments Martin had ever seen. For days after he was haunted by the thought of the last moments of that bird's life. Too tired to fly, it landed on the handle bars and hoped it could last out the storm. It had no home, no friends to sit next to to share warmth. It had died alone, scared, and cold.

Maybe Martin was the reincarnation of some prince thousands of years ago. Maybe he wasn't. He didn't care. For the few short moments he had with Douglas had been one of the most incredible, life-changing events of his life. Martin had touched the sky. _Touched_ the sky. He had done something men had been trying to do since the dawn of time.

He loved the dragon for that. No matter the sin, Martin would always be grateful.

After a week of tests and bed rest, the hospital deemed Martin fit to go home. As he packed his things and the small gifts he received from friends and family, a nurse walked in and said, "Mr. Crieff? You have one last visitor."

By over emphasizing his head injury and stating he could not remember the events of the forest collapse, the police and the news journalists left him alone. It was not as if they could blame _him_ for the sinkhole. Simon was downstairs, readying the car to take him home. Martin wondered who would come see hi at this point.

The nurse stepped aside, allowing the visitor to walk in. She closed the door behind her.

Martin did not recognize this man. He was a tall, older man, with grey hair and tired, soft eyes. He wore an expensive-looking suit with black leather shoes. In his hands he carried a bouquet of roses.

For a startling second Martin feared he could be a friend of Prudders.

The man set down the flowers on the bed. "Does your head still hurt?"

Martin swallowed a gasp. He recognized that voice. "D-Douglas...?"

"I hope this is appropriate," Douglas said, waving his hand over the bouquet. "I'm not used to modern era gifts. In my day we used to give each other goats or grain."

"What? No, it's fine, it's..." Martin shook his head. "I thought you were dead!"

"I was," he said. "I was forgotten."

"Then how...?"

Douglas smiled gently. "I was remembered."

God, this was too much. Martin stepped back, rubbing his head as bits of memory sparked heavy, crushing familiarity inside of him.

"Is your head alright?" Douglas asked, stepping forward, raising his arm to touch Martin across the cheek. "In my haste to save you, you fell and struck your head against the cavern floor and I-"

Martin moved away. "The caves," he gasped. "What happened?"

"I got rid of them."

"Why?"

"I didn't want them anymore," Douglas said, shrugging. "I didn't need them anymore, so I got rid of them."

"Yeah, but-" Martin didn't want to say, _but what about all of the treasure?_ Because, gee, didn't that sound so fucking greedy? The whole fucking point of leaving the caves behind was because Martin knew he was being too greedy.

Douglas heard the unsaid question. "I did not spend hundreds of years collecting that gold only to throw it away. It's mine. I simply moved it so those fools don't try to steal it again."

Martin nodded, wanting to move on to another subject. "You're human."

"Yes."

"Have you always been...?"

"It takes a lot of energy to shift back and forth. Changing sizes is easy, changing species is a bit more tricky. You always have to know how many fingers there are, where hair is located, how many eyes and what colour they are. The first time I turned human, my eyes were red and I was nearly hunted down because people mistook me for a demon. I left the caves a few times the past few months to venture out into the real world, to see what's changed."

He paused. "A _lot_ has changed."

"So what happens now?"

"We could go our separate ways," Douglas suggested. "I've made enough of an imprint on the world as not to be forgotten again this time around. If you don't want to see me again, that is your will."

"God," Martin huffed. "No pressure, then."

Douglas' eyes narrowed at him. "I thought this is what you wanted. You didn't want me, you didn't want come back, and now that I give you an out-"

"I nearly _died_ this week," Martin hissed. "My whole world has changed and I don't even know how I am going to adapt to it. And-and-and then you pull this on me?"

Douglas reared back, confused. He did not wear his human face well. It was like he was wearing a rubber mask that fit wrongly and it kept slipping off at certain places. "So you want me to stay?"

"What I want... is _time_. Stop throwing these things at me and give me time to adjust, for fuck's sake! I'm already struggling with the idea I may be the reincarnated prince from a thousand years ago, but now this too?"

His head was pounding. His head had been pounding this whole week from the injury. Martin stepped forward, grasped Douglas by the lapels of his suit and said, "I told you in the caves... I am not leaving you again. Just... stop giving me ultimatums. I've had enough of those. Let's take this one day at a time, okay?"

Douglas' hands reached up and covered Martin's. "Okay."

How incredible a two syllable word was. "Just be aware..." Martin began. "I am not _him_ , you know. So don't expect me to be him."

"Your souls are still the same. You're a bit like... oh, what was that _thing_ I was exposed to a few months back? The Doctor? Different, but deep down, still the same person?"

Martin jerked his head up, his mouth gaping. "You've been watching _tv shows?_ "

"It's a whole new world out there, Martin." He moved down to kiss him. "And I plan to enjoy it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of the frozen bird is from the site, OneSentence.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. This is my hundredth fic on this site. :)


End file.
